


Silver And Gold

by ProneToRelapse



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Age Difference, Coming of Age, Falling In Love, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man, Summer Love, Summer Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-12 10:06:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15337560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProneToRelapse/pseuds/ProneToRelapse
Summary: One last summer before they move on. One last summer before everything changes.Connor wants to enjoy his last seven weeks of tentative freedom. He doesn't expect to fall in love.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IDEA PUNCHED ME IN THE TIT AND STOLE MY WALLET. I don't have much else to say about it except that it's gonna be a fuckin' ride.

Never before has dusk been so beautiful.

 

The air is cool and tugs gently at the drapes as Connor throws the windows wide and steps into the balcony, hands gripping the railing as he takes in the view. Home feels so far away; the worries and concerns a distant memory now. Here and now, this moment, is all there is, and Connor intends to drown in it for as long as he can, to bask in the fragile peace of a seemingly endless summer.

 

Here there are no expectations to meet, no standards to uphold. He doesn’t have to perform for anyone or gain their approval. Here he has the first intoxicating sense of freedom, and the thought is as heady as it is enticing.

 

Daylight will only remain for another hour or so, and Connor intends to make the most of it. Time is precious now, finite as much as it seems eternal. He’ll not waste a second sitting around letting himself feel the exhaustion that lurks beneath his skin. The others have done little else other than to check in and retire, but Connor wants to live as much as he can before he returns to stress and reality.

 

Tucking his phone and his wallet into his pockets, he rolls up his shirt sleeves and slips out of the room, heading down to the foyer to step out into the cool Venetian air, still tinged with the honeyed touch of summer warmth.

 

He has no plan, no aim or directive other than to just wander. To live, free and at his own pace. That’s all this trip is. The culmination of years of hard work before he loses himself fully in adulthood and the constant grind of work. But he doesn’t want to think of that now. He doesn’t want to think of the acceptance letter he’d left tossed on his bed, confirming the placement at a university he doesn’t want to attend studying in a field he doesn’t care about. He doesn’t want to think about the glowing pride on his mother’s face, pride that he hasn’t put there because none of this is what he wants.

 

So he walks and wanders, soaking in the lilac twilight of this new city around him. The whisper of something almost like magic in the air that tingles on his skin like stardust and raises the hairs on his bare forearms. 

 

He stops along a low bridge to watch the way the water reflects the sky, to listen to soft music that fills the air but has no source of origin that Connor can't identify. Everything is caught and held in a perfect loop of idle tranquillity.

 

Connor tilts his head toward the sky and feels like he’s truly breathing for the first time in his life.

 


	2. Chance

Awareness creeps in slowly, softly drawing Connor from half-remembered dreams of starlight and crystal shards dancing on the surface of water. He blinks away the dullness of sleep and sprawls out on sun-warmed sheets, eyes squinting against the warm light shining through the open windows. He’d fallen asleep with the drapes open, staring blissfully at the moonlight before he’d finally drifted off. The euphoria that had thrummed quietly in his chest the night before intensifies in the morning light. He feels rejuvenated, refreshed.  _Free._

His cell chimes quietly on the side, screen lighting up with a text notification. Nines is awake and heading down for breakfast if Connor wants to join him. He does, very much so, and gets out of bed easily, the usual cloying reluctance left back in the states with the rest of his life. He dresses coolly, thin shirt and chinos, and heads down to the foyer to meet his brother.

Connor’s experiences are not exclusive to himself, it seems. Even Nines looks different here. His eyes are warmer, his broad shoulders relaxed from their usual tension. He smiles when he sees Connor approach and even holds out an arm to bring Connor tight against his side. Connor lets himself be pulled into the hug with a rush of affection for his brother, following happily as Nines leads them out into the sun.

“Sleep well?” Nines asks, ruffling Connor’s hair.

“Really well,” Connor answers, elbowing him. “I went for a walk and it was... It was unreal. I’ve never felt anything like it.”

Nines hums in agreement. “I had my windows last night and I could hear music. It was so lovely. Didn’t know where it was coming from, but I loved it.”

Connor is vibrantly pleased to be able to share his little piece of discovered magic from the previous night. It feels more real now that he can verbalise it, more firmly lodged in reality rather than the effervescent realm he had stumbled into by accident. Nines listens as Connor relays his small adventure of the night before, guiding them wordlessly into a small café, not even attempting to interrupt Connor’s flow for a second. When the story is over, Nines offers him a wide, fond smile.

“I haven’t seen you smile like that in a while,” he says softly. “I knew this would be good for you.”

Connor doesn’t reply verbally, just ducks his head with a sheepish flush. Nines has been a godsend these past few years. No one else knows the weight Connor carries on his shoulders, he usually bears it alone, but Nines shoulders some of the burden when he can, and Connor is eternally grateful.

“I just feel like I can breathe here.” Connor leans back in his chair and takes a deep breath to illustrate. “I want to forget everything and just  _live,_ you know?”

“I know.” Nines nods, reaching for a menu. “And this is going to be the best summer of your life. No work, no responsibilities. You’re gonna enjoy every fucking second of it, you hear me?”

Connor beams. He does so love his brother.

They spend the morning together, a rare enough occasion in itself, made even more special by their surroundings and their solitude. Nines is hardly ever home these days. He visits as often as he can, but between his job and relationship, he doesn’t have as much free time as he used to. Connor has to be content with the texts and regular phone calls. Has to be stronger now that the full focus of his mother’s expectations are centred solely on him.

He pushes that thought away, deep down where he can’t reach it. This summer is not for fear and foreboding. It’s for freedom. For living. The perfect goodbye to a childhood strictly dictated by the will of others.

He and Nines wander the city until well past noon, when the others of their group finally recover from their flight-induced exhaustion and request that they join them. They make a slow meander back to the hotel through a route Nines brings up on his cell, unhurried and leisurely, taking the time to just be without the constraints of time bearing down on them.

Markus waves them over as they arrive, smiling brightly while North and Kara stand a little way off to the side with Simon, posing for photos to send back home. Connor lets them pull him in to join the impromptu photography session and resolves to let the others make physical memories of their time here. Connor wants to keep it secret, just for himself. He wants these memories to be for him and him alone, locked tight in his heart and mind where no one else can touch them. No matter what happens here, Connor’s memories will always be coloured by positivity and nostalgia. He doesn’t need visual reminders.

The group don’t plan much for this first day. No one seems in a rush to schedule out their trip, all happy enough to just explore and discover in their own time. Simon does say that he wants to visit the Doge’s palace at some point and the suggestion is met with eager agreement from the rest of them. But still there is no hurry. Only the pleasant hum of peaceful certainty that whatever happens will be remembered and reminisced upon fondly for all time.

Aimless wandering brings them to the heart of Dorsoduro where they gather to rest and revitalise, claiming two tables in view of the ornate fountain in the centre of the little plaza. It’s everything Connor had imagined prior to arriving. The gentle bustle of people living, the gentle sunlight, the calm rush of water from the canals and the fountains. He sips his drink while the others chatter excitedly, leaning in to Nines’ comforting hand on his shoulder.

A few tables away, a man with silver hair is muttering into his cell phone with tangible irritation while he glares at the screen of his laptop. He catches Connor’s attention, though not through any obtrusive means, because his voice is a soft tenor pitch that rings with a familiar American accent. He has a pleasant voice, rich and warm, even when snapping at whoever is on the other end of the call. Connor watches quietly for a while before his input is required in the conversation.

“They serve  _absinthe_ ,” North is saying with a frightening grin. “And we’re old enough here! Don’t tell me you’re going to let this golden opportunity pass?”

“I’m out,” Simon says emphatically. “I’m not drinking it. I’ll end up in the canal and then you guys will have to explain to my dad how I died.”

“No problem,” North chirps, prompting a sharp jab from Simon’s elbow.

“I’m curious,” Kara admits, soft as always. But Connor knows she has a wild streak. He’s seen it enough times. “I’m in.”

“Me, too,” Connor says and Nines claps him on the shoulder in approval. 

“I’m so glad my baby brother isn’t a wet blanket like Simon,” he says and laughter ripples round the table while North resumes her teasing with renewed vigour.

Connor’s attention drifts back to the man a few tables away. He doesn’t seem bothered by his surroundings at all, as if everything that matters to him is displayed on his laptop screen. He types diligently, salt and pepper brows pinched in concentration, a cigarette caught between two fingers as he taps at the keys. His glasses, black, square and attractive, rest low on a proud nose. The soft breeze tugs almost lovingly at a few loose strands of silver hair that have slipped free of an artfully careless ponytail. Under the sunlight his soft features seem to glow gently, capturing Connor’s attention as though God himself is presenting a creation for his approval alone.

As if feeling Connor’s inquisitive gaze, the man turns his head to look up, catching Connor’s eye with eyebrows raised in curiosity. Connor’s pulse quickens and a flush heats his cheeks. He quickly averts his gaze but can’t seem to stop it flitting back as though drawn by some unseen force.

The man offers him a half-smile, left side of his mouth quirking up. Connor’s blush deepens and he offers a faint smile in return.

The fragile moment, whatever it is, breaks easily as North gets to her feet and proclaims that they move on to better, more interesting venues. Connor chances one last look back at the man as he stands, but his attention has returned to his laptop, fingers flying over the keys.

Connor follows the others dutifully, hiding the memory of that small moment delicately against his chest, fluttering like a butterfly between his fingers. He doesn’t look back, but the memory is already flittering within his ribcage. Something new and wholly undefined.

The sunlight shines hot against his back.

He still does not turn around.

 


	3. Connect

It should have been expected that North firmly planned to follow through with her gleeful declaration of legally purchasable absinthe. Simon, having been the only one opposed to the idea, gives in with grumbled mutters about drowning drunkenly in the canal, but no one pays him much mind. They’ve seen it all before, watched in unfold the same way. North has a terrible idea, Simon objects, and then they all go along with it anyway. 

The night begins innocently enough; drinks between friends vacationing for the summer. But after a few two many rounds, heads are clouded, words are slurred, and Connor’s cheeks feel almost unbearably hot. The sting of absinthe is rough on his tongue, the chemical burn scratching at his throat. The bar is suddenly too small, the music too loud, the air too thick. 

Connor excuses himself with a soft admission to Nines’ ear, who nods in a wordless promise to relay his whereabouts to the others should they ask after him. He stands and slips ephemeral through the crowded bodies, stepping out into the fresh night air with a deep, slow breath to fill his lungs and cool his skin. He feels dizzy, pleasantly slow, and edges over to the canal railing to lean and recover from the momentary flush of heat. 

The water ripples in gentle waves that catch the moonlight beautifully. Connor lets his eyes slide out of focus as he watches the dance of liquid and light, vision blurring until ivory starburst is rippling across a black canvas. Slowly, his pulse calms and his body cools, the momentary rush of claustrophobia ebbing away until he is relaxed once more. He is in no hurry to head back inside. The night is beautiful and he has no reason to rush. 

“You good, kid?”

Connor looks up, caught off guard. Standing not five feet away is the silver-haired man from the café. He’s smoking again, leaning against the railing and eyeing Connor with a passively concerned expression. 

“I’m- Fine. Thank you.” Connor attempts a polite smile. He’s not wearing the glasses from earlier. Connor is a little disappointed. “I just needed some air.”

“Same.” The man digs in his pocket for a dog-eared pack of cigarettes. “You want?”

   
Connor hesitates for a moment before nodding and taking a cigarette from the pack. The man holds out a lighter, flame lit, and Connor leans forward to light the cigarette, inhaling too much too fast and turning away to cough violently into the crook of his arm.

The man laughs, stepping forward to clap him on the back. "Easy, kid. Why didn't you just say you don't smoke?"

Connor coughs until his eyes water, swallows a few times before he can speak. "I wanted to try," he says hoarsely, glaring a little defiantly as he takes another drag on the cigarette. It burns a little less and his throat still tries to convulse against the foreign sensation, but he swallows hard and exhales a cloud of smoke without throwing up a lung. He feels a little dizzy, but the man is still patting his back in that slow, comforting gesture.

"So what brings you all the way out here?" He asks, stepping back to tap the ash from his cigarette. "You're a long way from home."

"Vacation," Connor says, still trying to swallow the burn away. "Before I start university."

"Yeah? So you're what, eighteen, nineteen? What are you studying."

"Nineteen. And..." Connor is quiet for a long moment before answering. "Law," he says flatly. 

"I'm not reading a lot of enthusiasm."

Connor hesitates. "It's... Fine. It's what's expected of me."

The man snorts. "Ain't that a fuckin' old record. Heard that too many times before." He clamps his lips round the cigarette and holds a hand out to Connor. "I'm Hank," he says. "Anderson."

Connor takes his hand to shake, freezing with his hand half extended. " _Anderson?!"_ It's too much of a coincidence. It  _must_ be him. "Author of the  _Diablo_ _Requiem_ series?"

Hank grins and reaches the rest of the way over to grab Connor's hand and shake it firmly. His hands are calloused and warm, considerably wider than Connor's own. "The one and only. Well, not really. There are probably thousands of Hank Anderson's in the world, but I'm the one who wrote that series. You've read it?"

"Are you kidding?" Connor chokes. "It's my favourite series of all time. I take  _Blackest Dawn_ with me everywhere I go."

"Huh," Hank says. "Nice to meet a fan."

Connor flushes deeply. He can feel the heat creep all the way down his neck. "I'm Connor, by the way."

"Nice to meet you, Connor." The smile Hank gives him is soft and genuine, not the humouring smile he had expected when he confessed his enjoyment of Hank's books. "So, Connor, would you like to get a drink?"

"I'd love to," Connor says, falling into step with Hank who guides him with the barest hint of a hand against the small of his back.

"And you can tell me what you'd rather be studying."

Connor ducks his head a little. "It's not really relevant."

"Is to me, I wanna know. I'm a writer, I'm a nosy bastard."

Connor huffs a quiet laugh, startled by the admission. "You'll laugh if I tell you."

Hank gives him a charmingly crooked smile. "Only if it's funny."

Connor takes a deep breath. "I wanted to study forensics and criminology. Ever since I read  _Midnight Crisis._ The way you wrote, it... It made me want to become a detective. But... my father was a lawyer and my mother wanted me to take after him, so... I didn't get much choice." 

  
   
"That's bullshit," Hank says fiercely, making Connor jump. "Honestly, why can't you study what makes you happy? Jesus Christ."

Connor appreciates the frustration Hank is feeling on his part. He offers the older man a tentative smile. "I don’t mind," Connor says quietly. "I might still be able to do some good as a lawyer."

"Yeah, of course you will, but it’s not what you're passionate about. That makes all the difference."

"And... What are you passionate about?" Connor asks tentatively.

Hank pauses, looking thoughtful. "Simple pleasures," he says after a moment. "Just... The little things. Life fuckin' sucks kid. You gotta take your happiness when you can."

Connor thinks that's maybe the best advice he's ever gotten. It feels a lot more significant considering its source.

"Come on," Hank says, leading Connor into a smaller, quieter bar. "What're you drinking?"

Connor gives Hank his preferred order and finds a table when directed. His phone buzzes away ignored in his pocket until the night bleeds into morning and the battery finally dies.


	4. Distress

Connor wakes to blinding sunlight streaming in from the wrong side of his hotel room. He squints, groaning softly and nuzzles deeper into the soft warmth under his head to block out the too-bright light. Something soft is brushing gentle patterns against his spine, light, barely there, lulling him temptingly back into sleep. He hums quietly and the warm pillow under his head shifts a little.

 

Connor's eyes snap open and he winces against the stab of light, lifting a hand to shield his eyes as he tries to focus on the handsome face smiling sleepily at him.

 

"Morning," Hank murmurs, the sound of it rumbling through his chest. Connor's cheeks heat up as he recalls the events of the previous night and ducks his head against Hank's shoulders as the older man laughs softly.

 

It had been... Dreamlike. Everything about it felt unreal, only the pleasant ache in his body and his current surroundings reminding Connor that it happened, that it was very real. He reddens further as he recalls Hank's hands on his body, the brush of lips against his skin, the perfection of being held tightly as pleasure spiked between them.

 

"Good morning," Connor mumbles into Hank's shoulder. He shivers as fingers find their way into his hair, combing the messiness out of his curls. 

 

"Sleep well?"

 

"Yeah, I did, thanks." Connor shifts up a little, giving a faint noise of discomfort that prompts a sheepish smile from Hank. He lifts a hand, tracing a spot on Connor's neck that he can't see.

 

"Sorry," Hank murmurs. "I left a bit of evidence on you." He grins and Connor looks away, embarrassed by the rush of pleasure that gives him. "Feel free to shower, if you want. Would you like some coffee?"

 

"Please," Connor says, looking around for his clothes. He spots his phone discarded on the floor and his eye widen in fervent panic. " _Shit._ Fuck, what charger do you have? Can I borrow it?"

 

"IPhone. It's plugged in on the desk."

 

"Thanks." Connor vaults off the bed and snatches his phone up, jamming the charger into the port and tapping his foot impatiently while he waits for the damn thing to charge enough to switch on. 

 

"You good?"

 

"I didn't tell my friends where I went," Connor says, chewing his lip anxiously. "My brother is gonna  _kill_ me."

 

"Ooft," Hank says, sitting up and swinging his legs round so he's perched on the edge of the bed. Connor keeps his eyes politely averted. They're both still very naked. "Yeah, that wasn't a smart move."

 

Connor makes a small distressed noise as his phone finally starts up and he can thumb in his passcode. His heart sinks as message after message comes flooding into his inbox, increasingly frantic messages from everyone.

 

He hits Nines' contact and lifts his phone to his ear, hand shaking. He stiffens as something is draped over his shoulder and looks round to see Hank has draped a robe round his shoulders. He smiles gratefully just as Nines answers and  _bellows_ down the phone.

 

 _"Where the fuck_ _have_ _you been?!"_ Nines voice crackles through the speaker so loud that even Hank gives a wince of sympathy.  _"Do you have_ any  _idea how worried we've been? You fucked off without a word, we thought you'd been killed!"_

 

"I know, I'm so sorry," Connor says. "I know it's no excuse, I just... I met someone and we went for a drink and I lost track of time and I... I'm so sorry, Nines."

 

_"Just a fucking text, Connor. That's all it would have taken. Jesus. Fuck, I haven't fucking slept..."_

 

"I'm so sorry," Connor says again. "I'm on my way back to the hotel now."

 

_"Alright. See you soon."_

 

Connor disconnects the call and lets out a shaky sigh. "Fuck..." He rubs his eyes with the heels of his palms, taking a deep, unsteady breath in to try and steady himself.

 

"Hey, now," Hank says, putting a hand on Connor's shoulder. "These things happen, it was a mistake. You're good. Breathe."

 

"Thank you," Connor says after a moment. "Sorry, I... I need to go."

 

"Sure," Hank says easily. "It's okay. I bumped into you twice already. I'm sure I'll see you around."

 

Connor throws him a shaky smile as he tugs his clothes on haphazardly, grabbing his wallet and keycard off the floor. "It was- Great. I. Thanks. Um." Overcome with embarrassment Connor gives a stiff bob of his head like an unsteady nod, and quickly slips out of the hotel room, tearing down the hallways and following the signs for the exit.

 

He has to bring up a map on his phone to find his way back to their hotel but he manages, sprinting into the foyer breathless and sweating. Nines is waiting with North and Josh who all look up as he stumbles over to them, panting hard.

 

"I'm  _so-"_ Connor starts but Nines has him by the shoulders before he can finish, giving him a shake hard enough to rattle teeth.

 

"I was so fucking worried," Nines snaps at him. " _So_ worried. I thought..."

 

"I'm sorry," Connor says again. "I really am. I just... I met someone and we got talking and I lost track of time."

 

"Boy ditched us to get laid," North says, throwing her hands up. "That explains everything."

 

"Shut up, North," Connor says, scowling. "It wasn't like that."

 

"No? You've got hickies all over your neck."

 

"Fuck." Connor's hands fly up as if to cover the offending marks. Nines is staring at him with an expression he can't quite place. "I... Yeah, okay, I went back to his hotel. He was nice."

 

"I've never known you to be so irresponsible," Nines says, voice low. "Connor, you can't just run off with some strange guy and not tell us!"

 

"I didn't mean to! I went out for some air and we got talking and like I said, I lost track of time. It was nice, I... I didn't even think, I just...  _Acted._ You know? And I'm sorry I worried you, that's the last thing I wanted, but it just happened."

 

"Alright," Nines says with a heavy sigh. "Alright. Just don’t fucking do that again." 

 

"I won't," Connor says quickly. "I won't."

 

"Good." Nines rubs a hand over his face. "I don’t know what you guys are doing, but I'm going to sleep. I'll meet you all for dinner, okay?"

 

North and Josh murmur their goodbyes and Nines strides off towards the stairs without another word. Connor swallows hard against the heavy lead of guilt settles in his stomach. He'd just wanted a carefree summer. The last thing he wanted was to have Nines disappointed in him. 

 

"I... I'll catch you guys later," Connor mumbles. "I'm gonna head back to my room for a bit."

 

North blows an obnoxiously loud raspberry. "Boring. Alright, Josh, it's just you and me, then. Let's go exploring."

 

"See you, later, Connor," Josh says and follows North out of the hotel. Connor watches them go before heading to the elevator, hitting the button for his floor and feeling suddenly, thoroughly exhausted.

 

He leans heavily against his door once safely sequestered inside, but even then he still feels raw and exposed. He wants to reach out to Nines but there's not much else he can do except apologise again and again. He just needs time. He'll forgive Connor's foolishness eventually.

 

He throws himself onto the bed, face down, and groans. He lets it all out, the guilt, the frustration. He shoves it all into the sheets and lies there until his pulse calms and the unease fades. Then, when he feels steadier, he rolls over and takes the loved and worn book off his nightstand, curling up on his side. He ignores the bookmarked page and opens it from the beginning, sinking into a world he knows better than reality.

 

_"Time flows. Inexorably it passes and we can do little else except hold on and hope it takes us where we need to be. I've known that since my teenage years, from the origin of_ _my_ _current obsession, it carries me through._

 

_With little else to set my mind upon, I start the day as always, trying to free myself from the grips of the nightmares that still cling to me. In the morning light everything is clearer. The shadows have faded and I, weary as I am, feel slightly more_ _rejuvenated_ _under the sun._

 

_The morning draws on, the reassuring constancy of time, and I..."_

 

Connor loses himself to the words until they're all he knows. He forgets, for a little while, the weight of expectation and responsibility in favour of the expertly crafted prose of  _Darkest Dawn._ He forgets everything except the familiar story and the feeling of tender kisses against his skin.

 

 


	5. Offering

Nines offers something of an olive branch the next morning. Connor accepts gratefully and joins the others when they head to Venezia for a wine tasting tour North had been adamant about them doing. It helped that both Markus and Josh had also been keen on the idea, and Kara wanted to take some more photos of their outings.

Connor feels like he should point out it was a wine tasting tour and not a wine  _drinking_  tour, but somehow he knows that won't make much of a difference to any of them. He tags along anyway, glad of the company even if things between him and Nines are still a little strained.

The vineyard they arrive as is like something out of a romance novel. Wide, expansive fields of beautiful, full vines covered with grapes in gorgeous ombre colours. The villa is quaint and charmingly rustic and Connor loves everything about it. Kara's phone camera clicks near constantly while Nines speaks with the owner regarding the tour.

"We're currently catering to a wedding celebration," she tells them in heavily accented English. "So the east side of the vineyard is closed off, but we have much to see still! We can arrange a discount."

"Sounds lovely," Nines says with his easy, charming smile.

One of the staff members leads them round, but Connor isn't really listening to the tour. He's more focused on their surroundings, the warm air, the gentle breeze. The soft scent of grapes and the fresh air sweeps away the last of his distress, especially when Nines throws a careless arm around his shoulders while they walk. Connor elbows him playfully and Nines ruffles his hair in retaliation and things are suddenly okay again.

North and Kara get significantly more tipsy as the day wears on, while Simon and Markus pretend they aren't but keep picking grapes and stuffing them in each other's faces when they think people aren't looking. Nines and Josh wander off to gather some grapes to take back to the hotel and Connor wanders off a little looking for a cool place to stand to escape the heat for a little while.

He steps into shade just as a little ginger cat crosses his path, mewling softly and drawing his attention. Connor clicks his tongue at the animal but is ignored as it stealths into the undergrowth. Connor chances a glance at the others before following.

The cat stops under a heavily shaded section of vines and Connor kneels down slowly, cooing softly to the animal as it sprawls out.

"Hey, there," Connor murmurs, pitching his voice high and soft. "Hey there, pretty thing. Mind if I keep you company?" He holds his hand out and after a cursory sniff, the cat stretches its head forward for pets. Connor smiles and scritches its ears softly, still cooing all the while.

"Animal lover, huh?" The low, unexpected voice makes Connor jump, bothering the cat. He whips round, looking up into Hank's crookedly smiling face as his own cheeks heat up.

"H-Hi," Connor stutters, smiling shakily. "What are you doing here?"

Hank groans and lights a cigarette, jerking his head towards the villa. "I'm here with the wedding party. And I really fuckin' don't wanna be. Figured I'd make my escape while they were all pretending to know shit about wine."

Connor snorts and shifts onto his backside to sit cross-legged and soothe the agitated cat. "That's fair enough. You on the groom's side or the bride's?"

"Honestly? Neither. Bride's my ex wife. Don't even ask me why I'm here, because I couldn't honestly tell you if I wanted to. Never could say no to here, so here I am. Miserable and getting more and more sunburned by the fuckin' hour."

"That's why I found the shade," Connor said. "Also, the cat." He gives the animal's chin a scratch. "The others are around somewhere."

Hank slowly lowers himself to the ground, reaching out to pet the cat as well. He receives a loud purr in response. "I'm glad your brother didn't actually kill you."

"Yeah, me too. It was close, though. But it was my own fault."

"Nah, like I said, these things happen. The amount of times I fucked off when I was your age? I'm surprised my mom didn't nail my door shut."

Connor manages an approximation of a smile. It feels horrendously false. "I'm sure my mother would like to. Nines – my brother – he's not controlling, but he's still protective."

"Your mom seems like she's pretty strict on you."

"She has... expectations."

Hank huffs, digging a little pit in the dirt with his thumb to tap ash into. He fiddles with a leaf on the ground, brushing it around for the cat to bat at lazily. "Not much of a cat person usually. I prefer dogs."

"I like dogs," Connor says. "Do you have one?"

"Yeah, huge Saint Bernard. Sumo, I call him. I've got a friend watching him right now. God, I miss him. He's so much better than people." Hank offers him a sly smile. "Present company excluded, of course."

Connor ducks his head and Hank laughs softly. "You blush so much, it's adorable."

"Shh," Connor mumbles. "You keep  _making_ me blush." He leans back, not quite able to look at Hank straight on. "But, I... I wanted to say I really enjoyed. The other night. With you. It was. Yeah."

Hank grins. "I'm glad it was 'yeah'. And I'm glad I bumped into you again. I wanted to ask, you eat dinner, right?"

Connor blinks at him, completely perplexed. "Yeah, I eat dinner. What-"

"Want to do it in the same restaurant some time?" Hank winks, holding out a folded note of paper. Connor takes it slowly, unfolding it and staring at the messily scrawled numbers on it. Hank's cell number. Connor's heart skips several beats.

"I'd-"

"Connor! Where's you get to?" Nines' voice snaps into whatever this private moment had been about to become, and Connor leaps to his feet, stuffing the number into his pocket.

"I gotta go," he says hurriedly. "You can, uh, keep the cat." Hank looks up at him, bemused, then with eyes wide as Connor takes the plunge and sweeps down to peck him very briefly on the lips before dashing off through the trees, heart thudding double time in his chest. He catches up with the others a little way up the path, waving them down as he slows to a jog.

"I saw a cat," he says by way of explanation, and recieves a chorus of fond laughter in response. The note in his pocket burns like an ember.

 

 

 


End file.
